


Learn to Love Again

by sapphose



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Episode: s01e16 If Wishes Were Horses, Episode: s03e21 The Die Is Cast, Episode: s05e14 In Purgatory's Shadow, Episode: s05e15 By Inferno's Light, M/M, but also comfort at the end, tain was a terrible parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25023790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphose/pseuds/sapphose
Summary: Moments between Garak and Julian, after each time Garak watches Enabran Tain die
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 7
Kudos: 100





	Learn to Love Again

“ ** _All my life, I've done nothing but try to please that man.”_**

Enabran Tain is already there, when Garak returns to his quarters from the shop.

Garak freezes in the doorway, too late to stop the soft _whoosh_ of the door closing behind him, and stands with painful awareness that he has no idea what to do.

He doesn’t know the right thing to say, even after a lifetime in Tain’s service. It doesn’t matter that Garak prides himself on his silver tongue. Enabran Tain engineers the world to ensure that he has the upper hand in every situation.

If Garak were to show surprise, Tain would say, _I see those years of training were wasted on you, Elim. Living on this station has dulled you._ _I will have to ask someone else for this mission._ (Assuming this is about a mission.)

If Garak were to stay calm, Tain would say, _Aren’t you pleased to see me, Elim? Perhaps you’ve grown accustomed to living here. Maybe you’re disappointed I’ll take you away from_ _your_ _new Federation allies_ _. No, I still intend to leave you here to rot._ (He always wants a reaction, even though he trains others not to give one.)

Maybe he has come to fix the mistake he made years ago. He never wanted a child.

If Tain is here to kill him, should Garak try to run? He has weapons hidden around the room. Could he reach the nearest phaser? Could he shoot his father?

Garak takes too long, so Tain speaks first.

“Where are your manners? Is this how you greet a guest?”

Garak grits his teeth into a smile. _A guest_. If that’s the game, he’ll play along until he’s figured out the rules.

“Hello, Enabran.”

“Aren’t you going to offer me something to drink?”

It isn’t fair that Tain is comfortably enthroned in an armchair, issuing veiled orders, while Garak stands off-kilter and on-guard in the quarters that are supposed to be his. But fairness has never mattered before.

“Kanar?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Garak lets the silence simmer as he waits by the replicator for two glasses to materialize. He doesn’t look, but he can feel Tain’s eyes boring into him, exposing him layer by layer, leaving him bare.

The former director of the Obsidian Order wouldn’t leave his comfortable retirement just to mock an exile. There must be a greater purpose, something that couldn’t be communicated through encrypted subspace transmissions.

Could it be…

“Aren’t you going to ask why I’m here?” Tain asks affably.

 _To kill me, to use me, to let me come home_ \- possibilities race through Garak’s mind. He knows that Tain is giving him permission to ask.

For a single perverse moment, Garak considers feigning disinterest and letting the silence stew longer, just to be obstinate. But that would be foolish. If there is any hope of ever escaping this accursed station, it lies in reconciliation with the Obsidian Order.

In spite of the cynical voice in his head, Garak’s pulse quickens at the thought of returning to Cardassia.

“Why are you here?” he asks, carefully neutral.

Tain doesn’t answer right away. Garak recognizes this as a power play and does not allow himself to appear impatient, picking up the glasses of kanar and turning as if they have all the time in the world. He knows this part of the game well.

Tain’s face is in shadow, but Garak feels his scales prickling from being watched.

 _Is this what Kelas Parmak felt like_?

He pushes that thought down and steps forward.

Then Tain stands, and there is suddenly something very wrong. His shoulders shake with a cough that racks his whole body, and his next words are a wheeze, a death rattle.

“I’ve come for shri-tal.”

He leans forward, face emerging in the gloom, and _oh, Cardassia_ \- there is a hole in his forehead, a gaping wound, dripping blood. Tain, undefeatable Enabran Tain, is dying.

Garak drops both glasses, and the gasp of “ _father_ ” is out before he can choke it back, and he reaches out-

And Tain is gone. Tain is nowhere to be seen, and Garak is alone on his quarters standing in a pool of kanar that looks like blood.

It is only later that Garak learns what has happened, listening to incomprehensible explanations about non-corporeal aliens that emit thoron radiation and want to learn about imagination, of all things. Ridiculous. Nothing like this ever happened when Cardassians ran the station.

Dr. Bashir tries to ask him about it, once. _What did you see?_

Garak talks about an Andorian silk as beautiful as twilight on Cardassia Prime. He does not mention that he fantasized about the death of the one person who could bring him back to Cardassia. He doesn’t understand what it means.

***************************************

“ ** _I let him mold me, let him turn me into a mirror image of himself._** ** _”_**

“I don’t believe you.”

 _Good_ , Garak thinks, but he doesn’t look up. Odo will be here soon to collect his new uniform, and it isn’t quite finished yet, thanks to a delay in the shipment of Inkarian wool.

“That’s hardly new, Doctor,” Garak replies. As long as he stays focused on his sewing, he doesn’t have to look at Julian’s face. As long as he doesn’t have to look at Julian’s face, he can pretend this conversation will be quick and painless.

“No, I mean I don’t understand you. You tried to commit genocide, Garak!”

In their lunches, Julian has been alarmed, incredulous, frustrated, even irritated, but he has never sounded quite so _angry_.

There will be no easy way out of this one.

Garak sighs and allows himself one upward glance. The sight of Julian’s clenched jaw and curled fists is not promising.

“I tried to _prevent_ genocide. You didn’t hear the Changeling. ‘Cardassia is dead,’ that’s what she said.” Garak isn’t sure if he is really trying to convince Julian, or just trying to get a reaction. He knew when he started disabling security monitors what sacrifices would be involved, including the doctor. The friendship with Julian has been the thread holding together Garak’s existence aboard Deep Space 9, but it is not more valuable than the lives of the Cardassian people.

“That’s not enough to excuse your actions.” Julian’s voice is cold.

“Does that mean there are circumstances under which you would excuse them?”

“No!”

“I thought not.”

Garak looks back down at his sewing. Will the shoulders be too tight, now that the constable has solid mass?

“Not to mention the minor detail that you also tried to murder me,” Julian says with asperity.

 _Not to mention that I would have died, too_.

“I’ve known you for four years, Doctor, and not once have I attempted to kill you.” Garak decides against listing the specific methods he could have used to do so, but the opportunities have been bountiful.

“You knew I was on the planet’s surface.”

The self-deluded hypocrisy of it rankles. Garak knows he would be more quickly forgiven if he had attempted mass murder while sparing Julian’s own life, and the doctor should at least have the decency to admit it.

“On Cardassia, we would not call that murder.”

“Then what would you call it? A glorious sacrifice in the name of the state?”

Garak stiffens. He should have known that Julian would never understand. All those discussions regarding Cardassian literature, and all he’s learned is how to be sarcastic about the culture’s most noble values.

“Hardly. You would have been an unfortunate casualty.”

“Well, forgive me if I’m not interested in being a casualty, especially not in the destruction of an entire species!”

Garak can’t keep talking about this, can’t admit that he would have mourned Julian, can’t let himself remember that he was grieving even as he entered commands into the ship’s computer. So he keeps his eyes on the brown fabric in his hands. This is the last thing he will create before being locked up. It has to be a testament to his craftsmanship, something he can savor while trapped. _No, don’t think about being trapped,_ _don’t think about closets or_ _Tzenketh_ _or_ _walls closing in..._

“And the worst part is, you won’t even admit the real reason you did it,” Julian taunts.

 _Don’t take the bait._ _Focus. Is this seam straight?_

“You won’t admit you were trying to live up to Tain.”

That does it. Garak slams down the outfit and turns around sharply.

“Don’t talk to me about Tain, Doctor,” he hisses.

Julian’s eyes are bright, almost wild.

“It’s what he died trying to do, isn’t it? You couldn’t save him, and you wanted to destroy the Founders so that he didn’t die in vain.”

 _You don’t know anything about me._ If the ghost of Enabran Tain motivated Garak in any way, it was through the principles he instilled early in life. Diligent work and duty to the state are the only satisfaction. There is no room for remorse or regret. There is no room for sentiment or love. There is only Cardassia, in perpetuity.

“A scintillating theory, but much more human than Cardassian. Why is it easier for you to believe that I would act for one man, than for the good of my home?”

“Because that home rejected you,” Julian argues.

Ironically, it wasn’t Cardassia that rejected him. It was Tain. Garak was exiled on Tain’s personal, irrevocable order.

“It is still _mine_. Even in exile.” Garak realizes that his breathing is heavy. How does the human doctor do this to him? Why did he ever let someone get close enough to make him this vulnerable?

“I hope it brings you comfort while you’re in prison.”

Garak squelches the pang that accompanies the realization. Of course Julian does not intend to visit him.

“Unless I have been greatly misled, I believe the point of prison is to be uncomfortable. Otherwise it wouldn’t be much of a punishment.”

“The point of Federation prison is education and rehabilitation.”

 _Unlikely_. How can Julian rail against Cardassian propaganda when he wholeheartedly believes every lie Starfleet has ever fed him?

“Well, that will certainly be interesting. Do you think 6 months on a penal colony will be sufficient to rehabilitate me?”

“You’re not going to a penal colony.” Julian abruptly breaks eye contact and looks away. “They made the decision to hold you here, on the station.”

“How unusual.” Garak rolls this information around in his mind, dissecting. Why wouldn’t they take advantage of the opportunity to get rid of an enemy agent? Why does Julian look ashamed? “Tell me, Doctor. Did you have any say in that decision?”

“No.” Julian’s posture is rigid, a mask of tight control. But his eyes are still blazing. Does that indicate a lie, or an unwelcome truth? “In fact, I think 6 months is a light sentence for attempted genocide.”

 _So do I._ Garak is still surprised it’s not longer.

“I believe the exact charge is sabotage and assault,” he reminds Julian, as if the distinction matters.

“We both know what you did.”

Interesting. If Julian didn’t intervene on his behalf, who does Garak have to thank for his relative good fortune? Captain Sisko?

“I wonder. Are you really angry with me, or are you angry with Starfleet for condoning my actions?”

“They don’t condone you.”

The response is too quick. Garak recognizes it instantly as denial. He decides to push further. _If you want to twist the knife into me, Doctor, I can do the same to you_.

“As you said, 6 months is a very light sentence. What do you think they would have given me if I had succeeded? Imprisonment, or a medal?”

“You don’t know anything about the Federation.”

“I think I understand it better than you, Doctor. Maybe that’s the value of an outsider’s perspective.”

The sick satisfaction at Julian’s fury is fleeting. Six months or sixty years, it is still a cage.

All these years later, and he is still being locked in a closet for failing to do his chores and live up to Tain’s expectations.

***************************************

“ _ **Let this be a lesson to you, Doctor – perhaps the most valuable one I can ever teach you. Sentiment is the greatest weakness of all.”**_

It’s strange, the things that humanoids can survive and pretend to move on from. Garak watches Julian go about his day, smiling, laughing, never screaming about the month lived in torture as a prisoner of war while a stranger took his place. He doesn’t bring it up with Garak at all, until one day at lunch when they reach an impasse about _King Lear_ and the need for a change of subject becomes apparent.

“Did you really never suspect that I had been replaced by a Changeling?” Julian asks. He sounds only mildly curious, not disappointed, not hesitant.

As a master of false nonchalance, Garak doesn’t trust it. He suspects that Julian is doing the emotional equivalent of pressing an old bruise to see if it still aches.

Well, if he wants pain, nothing hurts more than the truth.

“Never,” Garak admits. He’s ashamed of the oversight.

“But you’re always telling me to be more suspicious.”

“As I said, sentiment is a damning weakness.” Garak knows exactly why his judgment is impaired where Julian is concerned.

“Do you mean that your judgment was clouded because you feel _sentimental_ towards me?” Julian teases. Really, he has no business looking so beautiful, smiling like that.

This is the trouble with telling the truth. Once you’ve made one honest statement, suddenly it leads into a cascade of others.

“I can see no other explanation,” Garak says lightly. He has decided to go as far as verbally confirming affection and friendship. (That far, and no farther, not under any circumstances.)

“Miles said that the Changeling was easier to get along with.”

Julian’s wistful face prompts a pang of sympathy in Garak, as well as a twinge of irritation at Chief O’Brien’s questionable taste. Comfort really isn’t his greatest strength, but seeing Julian like this makes him want to try.

“Yes, I did notice that our lunchtime conversations decreased in quality.”

Julian blinks, his mouth hovering somewhere halfway between a smile and a frown.

“You didn’t prefer it?”

It’s a good thing Garak still has some modicum of self-control, or he might start saying truly regrettable things about preferring the company of Julian, the real Julian, to that of anyone else.

“Of course not. He agreed with everything I said. It was infuriating. I was seriously considering ending our arrangement.”

“I’m glad to hear at least somebody likes me better than my replacement.”

Garak is shocked and mildly concerned by how much joy it brings him to make Julian smile. It’s dangerous to care about another person this much.

He tries to remind himself: friendship, and no farther.

“I do enjoy your company, Doctor.”

Julian looks down at the table consideringly for a moment. He flexes his fingers, hesitating, then reaches out and brushes them against Garak’s right hand, resting by their drinking glasses.

Garak forgets how to breathe.

“How’s the claustrophobia?”

“Until you ask questions like that.”

Garak pulls back his hand and inhales deliberately, filling his lungs with artificial air. He knows, on an intellectual level, that Julian is not trying to shame or humiliate him by bringing up his weakness. But indoctrinated Order paranoia shouts louder than rationality.

“I- I want to make sure you’re okay.” Julian falters, aware that he has said the wrong thing. “You were imprisoned, you had a series of panic attacks, you lost your father-”

“You were in that camp longer than I. Shouldn’t we be talking about your well-being?”

“We did. Now it’s your turn.”

“And if I don’t want to discuss it?”

Garak decides the reason Julian’s romantic relationships don’t succeed is this destructive insistence on discussing feelings better left suppressed and ignored. He had allowed the doctor to witness his final moment with Tain precisely because he wanted the doctor to understand without having to explain.

Julian takes a sip of tea. Garak hadn’t been aware it was possible for a human to communicate so much exasperation through the simple act of drinking.

“Why is it that you were more honest with me in a Dominion prison than you are on the station, where we’re safe?”

_Because in the Dominion prison I thought we were going to die. Because I’ve never been able to talk about Tain before, to anyone. Because I thought it might be a nice change of pace if one person knew the truth._

“When we’re safe, there’s no need to be honest.”

“Do you really believe that?” Julian asks. Garak decides that he has told enough truth for the day. Any more, and he will start sliding down a dangerous slope.

“You know me. I only say what I believe.”

“Liar.”

“How would you react if I asked invasive questions about your relationship with your father?”

The response is immediate. Julian leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest. Garak notes the change with interest. He has inadvertently struck a nerve. What could the good doctor be hiding?

“Wondering how you’re doing is not an invasive question,” Julian argues.

Garak smells the deflection, and follows the scent. This is safe, familiar territory. Hunt out the secrets in everyone else, and you won’t be forced to face your own.

“You’re avoiding answering.”

“My father is alive, and he’s not the topic of conversation right now.” Julian lays both of his hands flat on the table, palms down, and breathes. “I’m your friend, Garak. I want to know how I can help.”

Garak almost winces at the sincerity in that voice. He knows that the doctor means it.

When the implant malfunctioned, Julian tried to help even when Garak insulted and berated him. On the surface in the internment camp, it was Julian who forced him to take breaks, who crawled down the tunnel after him. He remembers that gentle arm around his shoulder, returning him to reality, those practiced hands pulling a blanket over his chest.

Julian has seen Garak at his worst, and instead of leaving, has tried to take care of him. Even now, when Garak is preparing to use inquisitor instincts to prevent closeness, Julian’s concern is how to prevent pain.

Garak has watched Tain die three times over, and each time felt himself fracture with the loss. But now that it has really, finally happened, he feels almost… free.

So much ground has been lost to honesty already. What’s the harm in one more truth?

“Your friendship does help,” Garak says quietly.

Julian’s face brightens, and Garak finds himself thinking that he would do almost anything to make that light bloom again.

“That might be the kindest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t repeat it.”

“Well, I feel _sentimental_ towards you too.”

“A weakness that you shouldn’t make a habit of admitting.”

 _Friendship, and no farther_. What would happen, Garak wonders, if he tried to do something other than suppress and ignore?

Without the weight of Tain’s shadow, he is finding that he might enjoy sentiment.

***************************************

“ _ **If that's true, it's a lesson I'd rather not learn.”**_

The sun’s light is blazing, and Elim feels sticky, dusty, and wrong. His head is beginning to swim. It never gets like this in the city, in the shadows of spires and citadels. But the heat of the countryside is different.

There is noise all around him, laughter and clapping and jeers, but he does not pay attention to anything but the eyes of one man. They’ve never looked at him this way. In the past, there has been at best tolerance. Now, there is fondness, and even pride.

He will do anything to keep those proud eyes on him. So he swallows hard, chest heaving, and swings himself once more onto the back of the riding hound. He’s small for his age, almost five years old but looking even younger, and he clutches tightly with sore fingers to stay upright.

The sun is so hot, so bright, and when he looks up it appears closer than it was before. He glances around, and notices that the people are closer too, pressing up around him, and he knows they shouldn’t be because it will cause the riding hound to panic and rear up, throwing him back to the ground. But the words are caught in his mouth and he can’t speak and when he searches the crowd for those proud eyes they are nowhere to be found.

The sun is swallowing the sky, and finally Elim spots his father but something is wrong, there is dark blood dripping down around the eyes and an open wound above them and the noise of the crowd becomes a roar as the sun bursts into flames around them. The eyes glitter with reflected fire and Elim screams with a hoarse voice but no one listens, no one moves, as the buildings collapse around them.

Elim looks into those dimming, blind eyes, and tries to beg, pleading to be seen, but they close with finality and finally the voice rips out of him-

“ _Enabran_!”

And his eyes fly open as he jolts upright, searching frantically, maybe he can still save him-

-But the fire and the people are all gone. Instead, it is a dark room, humid and smelling faintly like red leaf tea. There is no riding hound beneath him, but instead a bed, a bed that feels soft and familiar, and a warm body against him and a soothing voice in his ear.

“Shh… it’s okay, Elim, it’s okay...”

At the sound of his first name, Garak takes a shuddering breath.

“I was- I couldn’t breathe-”

“You’re safe now, Elim. You’re safe.” It’s Julian’s voice, Julian’s arms around him, and Garak remembers. He looks down and recognizes the kind eyes and dark curls damp with sweat.

Garak is in the bed he shares with Julian.

“Tain…” He looks around in confusion.

“Tain’s gone, but you’re here.” Julian’s hand strokes his back slowly, encouraging the muscles to relax. “You’re here with me. You were having a nightmare, but it’s over now. You’re safe.”

A nightmare. Garak’s head feels aching and crowded. Somewhere, a stern voice is admonishing him, something about weakness and a disciplined mind and betrayal. Will he never be free of that voice? Why does he carry it around inside him?

“I miss him,” Garak mutters, and isn’t that the cruelest irony of all? “He was a terrible father, you know.”

“I know,” Julian says simply. His hands continue, rhythmic circles on Garak’s skin, and the voice in Garak’s head slowly subsides into silence.

“He didn’t want a son. Just a tool to use. But I… loved him anyways.”

Tain had always taught that affection was a flaw, and sentiment a weakness. But there is a heart buried deep at Garak’s core, and no harsh lesson could seem to stop it from craving approval, forgiveness.

He never told Tain that he loved him. It wouldn’t have been allowed. Love was something you locked inside yourself, directed it at Cardassia or power or nowhere at all.

Garak tilts his neck and leans his forehead against Julian’s, breathing in the scent of his skin, feeling the tickle of warm breath against his lips.

“I love you, Julian,” he murmurs, safe and invisible in the darkness, far from the reach of Enabran Tain.

“I love you too, Elim.”

And Garak believes him. Not everyone lies. Not everyone twists loyalty into a thing with sharp edges. Sometimes, a person can be safe.

Garak closes his eyes. With Julian here, he thinks he will be able to sleep again tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Section titles come from this interaction during "In Purgatory's Shadow":
> 
> GARAK: All my life, I've done nothing but try to please that man. I let him mold me, let him turn me into a mirror image of himself. And how did he repay me? With exile. But I forgave him. And here, in the end, I thought maybe, just maybe, he could forgive me... I've been a fool. Let this be a lesson to you, Doctor – perhaps the most valuable one I can ever teach you. Sentiment is the greatest weakness of all.  
> JULIAN: If that's true, it's a lesson I'd rather not learn.


End file.
